Roma
by Teenangel
Summary: Vegeta's little sister, believed to be dead by the Saiyan Prince, appears on Earth shortly after the Buu Saga. Roma is introduced to Earth culture, and Vegeta is forced to come to terms with his childhood.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Vegeta's little sister, thought dead by the Saiyan Prince, appears on Earth shortly after the Buu Saga. Since the Saiyans are named after vegetables, Roma's name is from romaine lettuce.

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ. I am a poor educator—hear that students, I'm still writing fanfiction!

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><p><strong>Note:<strong> I've pushed back the year Vegeta was born to 727 AD in order to squeeze Roma into the time line, so Vegeta is 10 years older than Goku, which is inconsequential since saiyans age slower than humans.

Chapter One

_**Planet Vegeta, training room #07, 734 AD**_

"You haven't improved," the seven-year old boy scolded. He re-clasped a red cape to his armor and, with a gloved thumb, wiped blood from the golden, royal emblem on his chest plate.

A petite child wearily stood beside him, wearing a ripped, dark blue leotard and small, white boots; her short black hair was slick with sweat, bangs plastered to her forehead. She bit her trembling lower lip, hyper-conscious of blood painfully trickling across lacerations on her palms.

"I will have to be harder on you," the boy said, crossing his arms over his chest. "We will train an extra hour tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," the small girl replied. She bowed and moved to exit the training room.

The boy cleared his throat.

With a restrained smirk, the girl turned back and limped close to her older brother, the prince of planet Vegeta, and standing on sore tiptoes, planted a submissive gesture on his cheek with her tiny child lips.

He reciprocated with a cocky, self-righteous grin. A stranger might expect the girl to feel contempt towards the arrogant boy, but she tiredly beamed with devotion and admiration. Hidden within her brother's expression was pride, not only of his abilities as an instructor, but for his sister's fighting skills; as mediocre as her level was compared to himself, her potential, even at five-years old, placed her above the Elite.

The boy quashed the affectionate emotions that were being unintentionally shared telepathically and said with a sneer and furled eyebrows, "Roma, I'll beat you into a pulp tomorrow." He sauntered past, knocking into her dislocated shoulder, and exited.

"Yes, Prince Vegeta," Roma whispered.

_**Planet Vegeta, Royal Palace, 735 AD**_

Roma paced outside the meeting chambers, hoping to catch a glimpse of Freeza—or 'the tyrant and enslaver' as Prince Vegeta referred to him. Her brother had been recently forced on two extermination missions by orders direct from Freeza, and she feared this assembly of King Vegeta, Lord Freeza, and representatives of the Elite would make Vegeta's position as a member of Freeza's personal army permanent.

Roma glanced at the two henchmen of the tyrant—Dodoria and Zarbon—that stood beside the doors, preventing entrance or egress. Enraged by the thievery of her comrade and brother, and feeling empowered by her full royal regalia, Roma marched over and peered daringly up at the pudgy, pink excuse for a sentient being—and stuck out her tongue.

"Little prick!" A fat, pink fist collided with her head and sent her spinning through the air. She slammed into the opposite wall and slid upside-down to the floor. Moaning, Roma opened her eyes to a pair of thick boots, which kicked her repeatedly in the ribs in the second it took her to cringe from nauseating and shooting agony. Her father, the Elite among Elites, did not possess a comparable strength and speed; the revelation panicked her—could this monster kill her in her own palace!

Death by non-action was revolting.

Roma caught the boot in her hands and twisted with all her power. Dodoria hit the floor and cursed. Roma righted herself as Zarbon chortled in the background.

"Fricken monkey," said Dodoria, lifting a glowing palm to face her. A sudden ki blast hit Dodoria square in the chest, causing as much damage as a mosquito to a human.

Prince Vegeta levitated down from the ceiling and stood with hands on hips. "Well, well, well, what pests do we have here?" he said, darting his eyes between Dodoria and Zarbon. He entered his sister's thoughts long enough to determine she suffered no fatal wounds and then abruptly shut her out [1].

Roma frowned at the one-way communication Vegeta had always practiced with her; she wanted to caution him, this thing was stronger than the King! Trying to voice her thoughts, she was overcome by a coughing fit, speckling the floor with blood.

Dodoria stood up and smirked at the young prince. "Don't worry royal monkey, I won't hold back for you."

Roma merely blinked, and Vegeta was lying on the floor. Dodoria appearing as if he hadn't even flinched, let alone attacked.

"How pathetic, she couldn't even see it," Zarbon commented.

Vegeta failed at sitting up and resigned to spitting blood and glaring at Dodoria. "Damn you", he growled.

"Ah, that must be the little prince," said an androgynous voice that made Roma's innards become jelly. Freeza appeared from behind his henchmen and lifted the battered Vegeta by his tail; the young saiyan winced in discomfort.

"Congratulations, you have been granted the honor of serving me for an extended and yet undetermined period of time," Freeza informed the prince and then laughed sadistically; Zarbon and Dodoria joined in.

Roma shrank inside. Their monstrous forms seemed larger than life and her mortal soul could not match them. They moved down the corridor to the shipyard. Freeza continued to disrespectfully carry the saiyan prince upside-down. Roma followed for a shaky few feet before collapsing to her knees. Into her memory was burned the last glimpse of her elder brother—blood-tinted tears streaming into his hair. Her mind steadily filled with his psychic screams—a terrific crescendo of anguish.

An hour or a minute had passed, she could not tell. Prince Vegeta's thoughts of raw emotion were gone from her own; the hallway contained only herself and smears of blood. A large hand gripped her shoulder. She turned up her bloodied face, and King Vegeta scowled back. Roma reached out for her father's thoughts, but he refused to project them.

"You will have to leave when you are his age," he finally stated.

"For Freeza's army?" she shuddered.

"No, to someplace where he cannot find you."

**_Corthone Moon Base, 766 AD_**

"Roma! It has been a couple years, what returns you to our humble quadrant?" The merchant nervously cleared off the counter of useless nicknacks and set to work pulling out his newest hacked/upgraded scouters and pod-ship equipment for her perusal.

The saiyan woman unfurled her tail from her waste in order to straighten her armor. "Don't waste your time. I've come only for information," she said.

The merchant's antennas lowered in conspicuous disappointment. Living under the radar of the Cold family and their affiliates, Roma seemed perpetually years behind in galaxy news. The merchant knew he was one of a handful of trusted individuals who, for reasons none of them divulged, were not compelled to turn in the rogue saiyan. He often wondered where Roma disappeared to.

"Of course, Roma," he responded, after putting away the items. "But, it may cost extra today."

"I'm sure this will give me a discount," Roma said, raising up her left hand that contained a pulsing, blue ki ball.

"Hehe, as always miss. Free of charge. Let me first happily tell you that Freeza has been killed! King Cold as well, as far as anyone can tell. Truly, my source does not know how long ago it occurred. Cooler has been successfully preventing this information from becoming common knowledge. Roma?" The female saiyan's eyes had zoned out. The merchant waved his three-fingered hand in front of her face and squeaked in surprise when she grabbed his wrist with lightening reflexes.

She grinned, eyes changing from stoic to manically gleeful. "At last, Vegeta."

"Vegeta?" the merchant questioned, futilely trying to free himself from Roma's iron grip. "The saiyan prince was killed by Freeza on some backwards planet, a planet that exploded shortly thereafter—Freeza's modus operandi, of course."

Roma released the merchant's wrist, stumbled backwards, and landed on her bottom, cracking the tile floor. Her bottom lip quivered; she bit down on it. The merchant normally never came across as a tenderhearted soul, but witnessing a saiyan (of all species) distraught moved him—indeed, Roma was possibly the last saiyan in existence.

He left the safety of his counter and, intending to place a comforting hand upon her shoulder, knelt beside her. Without recalling her reaching an arm towards him, he found his neck being squeezed by her petite, but immensely powerful, hand.

She glared at him with watery eyes. "Are you certain that it was Prince Vegeta who was killed?"

"No doubt. An ex-soldier from Freeza's army told me himself that he'd received the report from Namek. Seems the prince had challenged Freeza—gah, Roma, please."

Roma released him and her eyes softened. She gave him a nod and said under her breath, "Thank you." She laid a handful of golden chips on the counter and exited.

Having collected his breath, the merchant cautiously followed, finding Roma only a few feet from the entrance, staring into the lavender night sky lightly illuminated by the gas planet it orbited. He commented sympathetically, "I, too, am of a species that is few and—"

"He was my brother," she stated firmly and blasted off into the sky, making a sharp right towards the shipyard.

"_Princess_Roma." said the merchant in wonder.

**_Planet Herathet, 770 AD_**

With the Cold family MIA—though by now it was common belief all members of it were dead—Roma had begun venturing into territory previously off-limits. For the past few months, she'd made camp on the tropical planet of Herathet, which orbited binary stars. She traded her strength and skill by protecting the planet from raiders (commonly bands of ex-Freeza warriors) for fuel and a vast quantity of rather mediocre food as it consisted mostly of fruits. She felt cursed never to find a species that appreciated medium-rare meat as much as she and considered returning to her solitary existence on a planet filled with rather viscous, but delicious, wild beasts.

Although grateful for her formidable presence, many of the people of Herathet—native and foreign—kept their distance from the saiyan female, though they would carry on conversation if necessary. A few she considered acquaintances, none were friends, and no one dared challenge her, even if merely to argue.

During interplanetary market days, with the shipyards filled to capacity, Roma would meander through the temporary stalls of exotic and hacked wares, anticipating a newcomer to cry out—

"You're a saiyan!"

Roma growled and looked up from the propulsion system she'd been inspecting. A green-skinned man to her right stood as if caught in a tractor-beam.

"And you're an ugly shade of green," she offhandedly commented. In fact, he looked strikingly unique and curiosity tugged at her. She crossed her arms over her armored chest. "Identify you're species," she ordered.

"I am Tyle, a namek of the planet New Namek," the man said.

"Never heard of nameks," Roma said and brushed past him.

"We normally keep to ourselves," the namek continued, even as the distance between he and Roma grew with her uninterested steps. "I am an exception, wishing to travel the galaxy in search of adventure. Pardon my exclamation earlier. I haven't seen a saiyan for many years. Truly, I have been led to understand that there to be none left besides Goku and Vegeta."

"V-vegeta," Roma spun around. "Are you stating that Vegeta is alive?"

"Yes. He and Goku reside on the planet Earth. It is thirteen parsecs from Herathet—a three and a half year journey at the highest speeds."

Roma, in a flash, was back beside the upgraded propulsion system. She dumped a pile of gold chips upon the sellers table. "You will install this on my pod-ship. Dock 42."

"Yes, mam."

"And you," she faced the namek, who looked terribly regretful of sharing his information with her as if he'd become the unintentional instigator of mass genocide. "Tyle? I would like the exact coordinates for planet Earth, immediately."

He gulped, "What are your intentions for Earth?"

She gave him a sadistic smirk that he instantly recognized, "Give me the coordinates and I won't set you on fire."

At the second dawn, Roma's pod-ship took off from Dock 42. She scheduled five refueling, repair, and subsistence layovers and then placed herself in hibernation. She dreamed of her mother and father, of her pet razor-beast, of the blood red sky of her home world, but mostly of her brother—

1. In the episode "Terror on Arlia" (11th in Vegeta Saga in uncut DBZ), Vegeta does telepathically communicate with Nappa.


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: Vegeta's little sister, thought dead by the Saiyan Prince, appears on Earth shortly after the Buu Saga. Since the Saiyans are named after vegetables, Roma's name is from romaine lettuce.

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ. I am a poor educator—hear that students, I'm still writing fanfiction!

**Author's note:** A reader mentioned that an OVA introduced the character Tarble, Vegeta's little brother, and wondered if I would include him in my story. I am, unfortunately, aware of Tarble; however, his existence, as they portrayed it, doesn't make sense to me, although balthezarian did an excellent job in her/his story "Brothers" explaining why Tarble looks like a 10 year old when he's in his late 30s. Tarble is not canon—aka not created by Akira Toriyama. My story rewrites Dragon Ball Z starting shortly after the Buu Saga, effectively replacing Tarble with Roma.

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><p>Chapter Two<p>

_**Earth, November, 774 AD**_

Bunny fluffed her graying, blond hair and mentally recounted the platters of entrees and appetizers, ensuring there was enough food for her handsome son-in-law and adorable grandson and then skipped cheerfully off to find her husband and seduce him into leaving his tinkering and join the family for dinner.

Dr. Briefs sat in lab #3, watching a green-tinted screen streaming with numbers.

"What are you doing, dear," Bunny asked him, as she always politely did so, regardless of whether she cared or was capable of understanding.

"Tracking a UFO, it entered Earth's atmosphere a few hours ago." Dr. Briefs put out his cigarette.

Bunny put a finger to her lip and raised an eyebrow. "A spaceship?"

Dr. Briefs laughed. "No, no, cupcake. Probably just a meteor. However, never can be too careful on our planet."

"Maybe another handsome man could land here?" she mused.

Her husband ignored the comment, checking his watch to determine what meal she was enticing him to. Dinner? He couldn't recall pausing for lunch. "One more measurement and I'll be done. OK, honey?"

Bunny tiptoed closer and craned over his shoulder, nuzzling her cheek against his. "I'll watch you. I love it when you work!"

The old man blushed. "Hehe. I suppose I could take my time with these 'equations'."

XXXXXXXX

"Urg, my eyes," Bulma bemoaned, having moments before caught her parents in flagrante. She entered the dinning room and paused, noticing a cold wind blowing from the balcony's opened door. A strange black haired woman sat comfortably at the table, devouring the Briefs' food as if she hadn't eaten in years and feared everything in front of her was a mirage.

Bulma cleared her throat. Intense black eyes locked onto her calm blue ones.

"This is delicious," said the strange woman, ripping a chuck of meat from a roast with her bare hand while stuffing a heaping serving spoon of mash potatoes into her mouth.

Bulma blinked her eyes several times in disbelief at such lack of manners; they reminded her of how Goku had eaten as a feral child. But this stranger was no child, but an attractive woman, in a _blue_ leotard, with _black_ hair, _white_ chest armor, and a wagging, furry, brown **tail**!

"Excuse me," Bulma said, then poked her head out the doorway and screamed, "VEGETA!" The stranger winced at the strident pitch.

Vegeta entered, holding his ears and cringing. "Infuriating woman, I'm right h—" He froze, glaring at the improbable _saiyan_ at his table, who sat motionless, staring back and holding a forgotten partially gnawed turkey leg. Neither blinked as if Vegeta's presence had caused them to fall into a trance.

Meanwhile, Bulma's genius mind spun with irrational possibilities and probabilities fueled by jealousy and fear. Would not a saiyan male prefer a rugged, powerful saiyan female to a physically weak, loud-mouthed human equivalent? And even if that were not true, how territorial and possessive were saiyan females? Was there some outlandish, barbaric custom of claiming someone else's 'mate', which would involve fighting, Bulma couldn't imagine it any other way. The only consolation Bulma had was that no telepathic communication was taking place beneath this uncomfortable inaction; though she could never enter her husband's mind, she could always sense when he entered the minds of others, even if superficially.

A plate slipped off the table and clattered onto the floor. The spell of awkwardness broke, and the three blinked in unison. Bulma shifted closer to her husband, and he, closer to the doorway as the strange woman rose from the table. She strutted over to Vegeta, and as the gap between the two saiyans shrank, Bulma's face grew redder and her fists, tighter. Then, the saiyan woman, practically chest to chest with the scowling prince, planted a submissive gesture on his cheek with her tiny lips.

"Hussy," Bulma hissed, slamming a punch into the woman's face. "Ah, damn it." Bulma cradled her left hand against her chest.

The woman raised her left eyebrow, unaffected by the human's 'attack', and asked, "Is this your mate? I like her."

Vegeta ground his teeth, angling inwards his eyebrows further until a vein in his forehead began to pulse. "Roma," he whispered hoarsely.

"You know this thing?" Bulma asked, infuriated with them both and their species and, for an unfathomable reason, with Goku for running into her years ago and getting her into this mess with extraterrestrials and apocalypses.

"Roma," Vegeta growled, impulsively grabbing the saiyan woman by the collar of her armor and hoisting her forcibly over his shoulder.

XXXXXXXX

Trunks, freshly returned from the Son's residence, found his flirtatious grandparents eating in the dining room, oblivious to the mess of gnawed bones and food particles on the table. The demi-saiyan sniffed the air and smelled something peculiar. Stretching out his senses he noticed two disproportionate kis in the GR—one definitely his father. Trunks considered if the other could be Uncle Yamcha.

With a mozzarella stick in his mouth and a plateful of chicken wings, he headed to what he hoped to be the entertainment of the evening.

He found his mother standing on tiptoes and squashing her breasts against the gravity room door in order to peer through the tiny window. Unfortunately, the room had been soundproofed months before by Dr. Briefs, and Bulma could only watch as if it was a silent movie without subtitles. Trunks levitated, pressing his head beside his mother's to get a peek.

His father swung a black-haired woman by the arm into the opposite wall of the gravity chamber and with lightning fast reflexes caught her by the neck. Futilely, the woman dug her nails into his wrist. A long, brown tail stretched wildly, but couldn't reach Vegeta as he choked her at arm's length.

"Mom, that's a saiyan."

Bulma slammed a fist into the door.

"That's kind of weird isn't it," her son continued.

She growled. By human standards, Vegeta demonstrated only violent dislike towards this woman, and Bulma should have breathed a sigh of relief. But her husband was a saiyan, a species that, as Bulma had observed, expressed the strength of their friendships through the enjoyment of beating each other to oblivion (Trunks, Goten, and their fathers were prime examples). Still, she enjoyed watching the woman struggle to speak.

"Their kis are very similar," Trunks mused, licking honey BBQ sauce from his plate and fingers.

Bulma pointedly stared at her son.

Trunks scratched his head wondering how to explain it in layperson terms. "Well, all the Sons have a kind of soft ki. If their ki was a flavor, it would be bumble gum. But, mine and dad's are more like coffee, the kind you burn in the morning. Hers is like that as well, but it feels closer to his than mine."

The GR door suddenly opened, and Bulma fell forwards. An inch from smacking the floor, Vegeta caught her with a tense, muscular arm and set her upright in a uninterested manner as if rescuing his wife had been an afterthought.

Trunks, usually eager to pester people for answers, held back his tongue and frowned at the dark expression on his father's face that was reminiscent of Babidi's Majin influence as if Vegeta was a microsecond from blasting a stadium into a crater. Bulma, however, boiled with jealousy and was intent at screeching at her husband until his ears bled. But the moment she parted her lips to shout at him. he was gone and a breeze blew from a shattered hallway window, raising goosebumps on her arms.

"Jerk!" Bulma stomped her foot.

Trunks put his plate down and wiped his hands on his green gi, and then bounded into the room, where Roma sat cross-legged spitting blood into her palms.

"Hi," he said.

She glanced up at the eight-year old, recognizing instantly his facial features—the hair color, however, was an enigma to her. "You're his offspring."

"Uh huh, my name's Trunks."

She straightened her back, leveled her shoulders, and with an official tone said, "I am Roma, the Princess of Planet Vegeta, your father's sister."

"You're my Aunt!" Trunks face brightened with an ecstatic smile. "That's so cool. Goten's going to be jealous as hell."

"Sister." Bulma said, feeling her anger sublimate into guilt and embarrassment. With jealousy no longer blinding her mind, she saw the similarities between her husband and this woman—the angle of the eyes, the intense black of her irises, the devious grin, even the intonations of voice.

An itch in the back of her mind made her cautious since Goku's brother, Radditz, had been evil; however, she doubted Vegeta would have left Roma alive and alone with his family if she was truly a threat.

XXXXXXXX

Bulma opened the guest room door and ushered Roma inside. Trunks followed, hands behind his head. Roma made a quick inspection of the room, giving the family photos on the night stand a good glance, then tested the bed's stiffness by strongly patting it with her hands.

"I'm sure you understand what everything is for," Bulma said.

Roma nodded, and then placed her hands on her hips. "I demand a washer and a drying cloth."

"Washer? Oh, a shower. We call 'drying cloths' towels. And you do not _demand_ anything. You _ask_. _Politely,_" Bulma stated, intent on squashing any high-and-mighty attitude as soon as possible. One royal-pain-in-the-ass was stressing enough.

Roma curiously looked at the human woman and condescending inquired, "How do _earthlings_ ask politely?"

Oh my god, is she serious? Bulma thought. "You should say 'please' when you ask and 'thank you' when someone does something for you."

Roma considered this. On Herathet she had followed their customs of bowing and gesticulations of the hands. "_Please_, a washer and a _towel_," she finally said, raising her chin haughtily into the air.

Bulma nearly fell over (Vegeta still had yet to say "please").

Growing impatient with his mother's antics, Trunks walked over to the closet and pulled out a light blue bath towel and washcloth. "Here ya go. You do kind of smell."

"Trunks! You do not speak to guests, wait, you should not speak to anyone so rudely."

Her son rolled his eyes. "You tell dad when he stinks."

"Really?" commented Roma, giving a Vegeta-like smirk. "You must be stronger than you look. I knew I liked you."

"For your information, I am the richest, prettiest, most powerful woman on this planet," Bulma boasted, implying that princesses of endangered sentient species weren't superior.

The best of the best, thought Roma, what else would my brother claim. "A queen?" she wondered aloud.

"Tsch, close enough," Trunks muttered.

"Trunks Briefs, out, now!" Bulma ordered her son, who complied, grudgingly dragging his feet to the hallway.

The door shut, and Roma nonchalantly asked her brother's female, "Did he mark you?"

Bulma blushed at the memory of Vegeta "claiming" her and shouted, "That's none of your business."

"Actually, as princess, it is, but I won't ask again."

"You're crude," said Bulma, "but not as much as your br—Vegeta."

The human's honesty and forwardness intrigued Roma, who was pleasantly surprised and grateful to have found such traits in a female of a low-level, low-tech race in a barely chartered sector of the galaxy. She chose to be candid in return.

"My brother experienced the command of Freeza. I did not. He learned to be resentful of his slavery. I became grateful of those people that aided me in my elusion from the Cold family."

Bulma stood impressed by this statement and, also, a little disconcerted by the strong affinity she already felt for Roma. Barely a half-an-hour ago, this saiyan woman had been a stranger of dubious intentions; without Vegeta present to fill in gaps or correct misrepresentations, Bulma couldn't be entirely certain how much of this was for show and how much of it was true. Her instincts leaned towards the latter. And she felt she deserved to have a strong lady friend that wasn't Lunch sneezing at the most inopportune moment, Chi-Chi being _over_ dramatic about anything, or 18 being _under _dramatic about everything.

The dull tap-tap-tap of thick dripping brought Bulma out of her thoughts. She noticed a dark red stain on the carpet and followed it upwards to the nape of Roma's neck, where blood trickled from beneath her mop of black hair [1].

"Hold on," Bulma said. She sprinted to the room's bathroom and returned with a first aid kit. "Let me take care of—"

Roma stiffened as the human woman pressed against her to reach the wounds that Vegeta had inflicted. Something cold and damp brushed across the lacerations, causing them to pulse with a sting.

"What the hell—"

"Shut up," Bulma snapped. "I'm making sure this doesn't get infected."

"I'll heal," Roma said and growled as Bulma dabbed on more rubbing alcohol.

Bulma ignored her as she would Vegeta (the growl was near identical). In contrast, Roma didn't flinch away, but remained physically compliment regardless of her verbal fuss. Bulma rubbed on Bacitracin and taped down a thick gauze, and then set the kit on the nightstand. Roma gingerly inspected the bandaging with her fingers and decided it was an improvement.

"Tomorrow, we can buy you some _clothes," _Bulma said, suddenly becoming giddy with the chance to play dress-up and have a girls-day-out. Vegeta and Trunks had long ago begun to select their own wardrobe — with Vegeta everything was dark blue and khaki.

"What are you implying about my armor?"

"Well, it's in much better shape than Vegeta's was. A few years back, he walked around with a hole in his for kami knows how many months." Bulma said. "I'll show you around West City. It'll be fun." [2]

Roma glanced out the window, feeling both curious of and averse towards the civilization of Earth. "Fine."

Bulma moved to leave, realizing she should inform her parents and find her husband. Vegeta had occasionally discussed with her his time under Freeza's command, bust he had _never_ mentioned his childhood preceding it, as if didn't exist; a sister, standing in flesh and blood, proved to Bulma that there were memories to tell.

"If you need anything, the bots can assist you," she said.

Roma cleared her throat. "Bulma."

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Bulma, struck speechless, only managed a smile.

Trunks energetically bounded back in after his mother had left and looked up at his aunt with a gleeful twinkle in his eye. "Do you want to see me go super?"

Roma raised her left eyebrow and stared at the child suspiciously.

1. I had to stop and test what liquid dripping onto a carpet sounds like.

2. West City and Satan City are two different cities. Satan City was originally Orange Star City (hence why Orange Star High School is located there). However, I will be taking some liberty with the geography of DBZ's Earth.

Teenangel: Thank you for reading my fanfiction. I'm always open to constructive criticism and plot suggestions.


	3. Chapter 3

Summary: Vegeta's little sister, thought dead by the Saiyan Prince, appears on Earth shortly after the Buu Saga. Since the Saiyans are named after vegetables, Roma's name is from romaine lettuce.

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ. I am a poor educator—hear that students, I'm still writing fanfiction!

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><p>Chapter Three<p>

"Super saiyans, all of them? What madness," Roma whispered to herself as she lay in bed incapable of sleeping. The mattress was too comfortable; the sheets and pillows, too clean; the room, too big.

During the long journey to Earth, she had imagined probably scenarios of her reunion with her brother. As such, his negative reaction hadn't caught her entirely off guard, but the intensity struck her to the core. She checked the bandage on her neck and considered how easily Vegeta could have killed her in his blind rage.

Her eyes closed, the event replayed—

Vegeta sent her tumbling headfirst into a circular room, and slammed the door closed. Dominance radiated from him, waves of intense, dark ki flaring out. A nostalgic submissiveness rushed through Roma; for a brief second she was five years old again and at the whim of her older brother. Instinctively she reached out to his mind, but rebounded against a thick mental wall, a layer for each year under Freeza's tyranny.

"You're, you're dead," he said hoarsely, closing in on her, fist balled and eyes blazing with violent frustration. His lungs heaved, hyperventilating as if a balloon in his ribcage was expanding, the memories trapped within threatening to explosively escape and efface the surface of the planet. And Roma was the point of the pin.

Roma scrambled to her feet. "Ve-"

He slammed a fist into her chest, lifted her by a leg, tossed her into the air, and kneed her in the stomach. She landed hard on her knees, cracking the ceramic floor, and coughed up blood. The ethereal glow of a ki blast entered her peripheral vision; she pushed off into flight, flipping feet first into the air, and felt its heat rush a centimeter from her cheek.

Hovering upside-down, Roma's adrenaline-fueled neurons whirled and, in mere picoseconds, childhood memories, dark suppositions, oracular visions coalesced into a guess of Vegeta's intentions—to beat her, representing the impossible, into oblivion.

Her eyes widened at the revelation; he didn't remember her. Her name and relation, obviously, but everything else, everything painful and pleasant from _their _childhood, existed behind his oldest mental wall. Roma recalled his psychic scream, and Vegeta's eyes winced; The wall not impervious.

Vegeta growled, grabbed her by the arm and threw her across the room; he caught her by the neck before gravity could pull her towards the floor.

"You Are Dead!" The volume and tenor of his voice shook the room. His right hand squeezed, closing off her windpipe and gouging the flesh of her neck with his fingernails.

"V-g-t, st-p." In their childhood training he had bruised her, sparred with her until her muscles were to sore to pick up an eating utensil, even drew blood from her lip or palms, but never _never_ had he inflicted open wounds.

"Dead," he said in a definitive monotone as if he had all intentions of ensuring it was true, even if it meant watching her suffocate. The heaving of his chest had quickened. The balloon (the wall? thought Roma) had reached its limit.

"Dead," he repeated quietly. Roma understood the description now extended beyond her, to all the moments before his slavery to Freeze—kept buried for decades.

"St-p," she begged, as a tingling sensation spread down her face to her shoulders."St-p." "Br-th-r"

Abruptly, Vegeta's expression and muscles deflated, and he released her. She collapsed, coughing for a lungful of air in order to speak. She looked up and saw the haze of emotion lifting, slowly replaced by a one of controlled distress and contemplative disbelief.

"Father, King," Roma weezed. "Sent me away, before Freeza destroyed the planet." Futility, she reached out to his mind; another layer had been erected.

Vegeta backed away. "You're dead?" he whispered.

"I thought you were." Roma said, thinking to herself that the brother she remembered had passed away in the hallway of the palace decades earlier, and afraid this Vegeta would never accept her.

—Roma threw off the blanket and chucked a pillow across the room. She pulled her armor over her lithe body suit and reattached her scouter. Trunks had earlier explained the warriors of this planet had a technique to sense ki without an intermediary device. She pressed a button on her scouter, and scowled at having a disadvantage. The Prince's power level did not appear in the vicinity. She grunted in relief and ventured out of her room into the compound of the strange Capsule Corp Empire.

XXXXXXXX

After emptying a shelf in the kitchen of its savory contents, Roma continued poking her head into any unlocked or open doors—an odorous laundry room, a room full of bland sitting furniture, a cluttered room of books, Trunk's pig-sty with him sleeping half out of his twisted comforter. An error message popped up on her scouter; his power level was out of its range. She smirked with sudden, unconditional pride towards another being; a pleasantly alien feeling that.

She considered waking the young one. She brushed strands of lavender hair away from his cherub face. Even in rest, his features were strikingly that of her brother. There was no doubting this halfling was family.

An insignificant blip appeared on her scouter. She followed it down the hall and through an unassuming door way. Roma froze, stunned by an expansive atrium, filled with a colorful variety of plants and animals, many of the latter were currently deep in sleep. How idiotic, she thought, bringing the outdoors indoors.

"Oh, you must be Roma!" a human woman squealed excitedly.

Roma mentally jumped, but showed no outward appearance of being startled. "It is late, woman. Do you not retire with the others?"

"I'm a night-owl, and I've only ever needed four or five hours of sleep." She fluffed her yellow hair. (What gaudy hair colors humans have, Roma thought.) "Won't you come help me? I'm planting some black-eyed daisies!" The blond human raised a drooping, dumb flower up as an example.

Roma needed something to keep her mind occupied, to not think of Veg- "Fine."

"Really?" The blonde's eyes widened and for a moment she stared as if in a daze. Roma wondered if the hair color had gone to her head. After a few seconds, the human smiled and giggled at a pitch painful to Roma's ears. "I must say, you're much better than another handsome man."

"..." Roma kneeled down beside the human and picked up an unplanted flower. "Woman, you are disturbingly strange."

"Thank you. Please, call me Bunny. And you need to make a hole first, honey."

Bunny, without any fear, reached out and grabbed Roma's hand, placing the handle of a spade into her palm. Then, she gently guided Roma through the steps of digging a hole of proper width and depth, placing the flower in with the roots spread apart, and filling around the flower with loose dirt. Bunny patted down the soil with Roma a few times, because Roma's saiyan strength had caused her to compress the dirt around the first flower practically to brick.

The texture of the rich, damp, black soil contrasted with the dense, dry, and red dust of Roma's home planet. The environment on Vegeta had been harsh and unforgiving, but the planet Earth spoiled its inhabitants to excess, enabling them to grow plants and raise animals for mere appreciation.

By 7 AM, dozens of black-eyed daisies filled the garden. "This is the last one. Would you care to?" Bunny asked.

Roma silently accepted the flower. As she patted around the daisy, she let her fingers linger in the damp earth, absorbing the ethereal sensation of a cool, calm existence. She understood in that moment that she wouldn't be returning to her life in space—she couldn't fathom being apart from her brother ever again.

She would have to make Earth her home.

XXXXXXXX

"Not too quickly with this batch dear," Bunny instructed, looking up at a bit of batter drying on the ceiling.

Roma growled and stirred extra slowly, using less strength than had been needed to plant the flowers. The blond had promised her a delicious breakfast of something called pancakes, described as fluffy, sweet, and buttery. Roma realized only too late she was expected to assist; it seemed this woman (Bunny sounded like a weak name) was abusing her as a servant.

For a second, the saiyan blood boiled in her veins and Roma considered killing the human woman for insulting a saiyan princess with _work. _Roma gritted her teeth and grudgingly continued to stir. ("Not worth the energy," she muttered.) Her mouth salivated at the thought of these pancakes, especially if they were anything as good as the strange foods she'd taken from the kitchen earlier—boxes labeled pop tarts, graham crackers, and several cans of chicken'n'dumplings.

And she was hungry.

"Oh you're so helpful! My arm would be tired by now," Bunny said as she began to butter the griddle. "It takes so much batter to make enough pancakes for my grandson, let alone his pretty aunt as well."

"Pretty?" Roma

XXXXXXXX

Bulma woke up at 7:40 AM and rolled over to the opposite side of the bed. She expected to breath in her husband's musky scent and soak up the remnants of his fading warmth. But the bed was cold and the pillow smelled of detergent.

She recalled the drama of the previous day and sighed heavily. Her brilliant mind spun with possibilities and probabilities. Suddenly she feared something was wrong, only because nothing _had _gone wrong during the night. Perhaps Vegeta had killed Roma, or Roma was planning on taking over the world and had stolen some piece of technology – maybe she kidnapped Trunks!

Bulma, not yet coordinated, got up all twisted in her sheets and promptly fell to the floor.

She pulled herself together and hurried down the stairs. At the entrance to the breakfast nook, she stopped dead in her tracks for the second time in less than 24 hours.

There in the kitchen stood a female saiyan in full uniform, wearing a pink frilly apron that read 'Bad Gurl' and placing a monstrous stack of pancakes onto the table in front of a drooling Trunks.

"Oh my god!" She exclaimed and collapsed onto the floor in a fit of laughter. Suddenly, everything seemed worth it – meeting Goku, saving the Earth multiple times, nearly getting killed hundreds of time, having a grumpy alien husband – just to see such a ridiculous image. Bulma wiped tears from her eyes.

"Mumph, youf okway?" Trunks asked with his mouth stuffed with half a stack of pancakes.

Her mind quickly associated Roma in the pink apron with Vegeta in the pink 'Bad Man' shirt and peeled into another bout of chest-splitting hilarity. Bulma sucked in a hard breath as tears rolled down her cheeks. Then she realized someone else was laughing with her. Bulma stopped and sat up. Roma stood, still in the apron, deviously giggling under her breath. The tone miffed Bulma; it sounded as though a King was being amused by the antics of a peasant.

"My ladies," said Bunny, "I'm glad everyone is so happy this morning, but sorry deary," she looked at Bulma, "your father just called and he needs you in Lab #6 right away!"

XXXXXXXX

Roma walked around the compound with her nephew for the fourth time that mid-morning. Bulma had been called away to oversee the experimental activities of the Capsule Corp empire. She'd promised to send someone, a friend, to give the tour she'd offered. Roma had been tempted to use the gravity room as she desperately wanted some intense exercise to work off the anxiety that had been building up since she'd arrived. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Trunks had warned her _never _to use the gravity room without Vegeta's expressed permission and _especially_ not when he was in a bad mood. Trunk's tone of voice hinted at a prior, horrible experience when he'd done otherwise.

Trunks told her many other things, some of the highlights were:

The planet has one moon, which was destroyed, but somehow came back. (Odd, thought Roma.)

Vegeta is afraid of worms or anything squirmy and slimy. (Roma frowned remembering the incident that had caused this fear.)

There are other saiyans, the Son family, that live in bumble-nowhere. (Ha! Peasants! Roma gleemed.)

There are some strong humans called Z-fighters. They're okay. (A strong flea is not something interesting, mused Roma.)

We have these dragon balls that grant wishes.

"Wait," Roma stopped Trunk before he began to describe ice cream, "A device that grants wishes?"

Trunks nodded. "Yeah, there's 7 of them. You have to find them, put them together, and say what ya want. Then they go away for a year and ya have to find them again."

"So," Roma rubbed her chin and smiled mischievously from ear to ear, "You can use them once every year."

"Uh," Trunks watched the wheels in his Aunt's head turn and recalled the stories he'd heard of "When Vegeta was Evil." It dawned on him that he shouldn't have shared this tidbit about Earth. "Well, only some wishes work. Like you can only bring the dead back if they were murdered, and it has to be within a year of them dying, and you," he thought for a moment and then struck on something clever to say so Roma would forget about the dragon balls, "you CAN NOT wish for immortality."

"I sense you are lying child," Roma said. Trunks blushed. They'd reached the edge of the atrium; it seemed all the hallways led to it. She crossed her arms and gazed up at the dome skylight. "Immortality is such a stupid wish," she sneered. "What's the point of living if you live forever. Where is the honor in never being able to die fighting."

"To die fighting," repeated Trucks thoughtfully, "But—"

Roma put her arm out for silence. An energy level, higher than any human she'd yet seen, spiked on her scouter. She spotted a man in yellow pants and jacket flying in from a window. She flew up, grabbed him by the collar of his white shirt and yanked the startled man down to the floor with her.

"Identify yourself intruder."

"Huh," Yamacha said, staring wide-eyed at the saiyan half-choking him. "Who's the intruder here? Trunks!"

"Hi, Yamcha, I guess you met my aunt," he said.

"Aunt! She's a saiyan! Does Veget—"

Roma shook him, "Don't say that name."

Trunks rolled his eyes. "Aunt Roma. You can let him go. He's harmless."

Yamcha frowned. "Harmless? Let me tell you kid, in my day—" He raised his energy and pulled against Roma's hold of him.

Roma watched through her scouter as the human's power level jumped up. As he began to escape from her grasp, she released him. He lost his balance and fell face forward into the hard tile floor. The cracking smack was immensely satisfying to Roma. Yamcha sat up and rubbed his face, mumbling under his breath about "ape aliens" and "Bulma's trickery."

"He does talk a lot." Trunks gave him his classic Vegeta glare. Yamcha shut his mouth.

"You are acquainted with the human Bulma?" Roma asked.

"Yes," Yamcha sighed.

"She cannot show me the city as promised, you have been ordered to do it in her sted."

"Order, now listen here—" Roma snatched him by the ear and pinched. "Ow, ow, Trunks."

"Sorry, I really have to study. Mom's quizzing me," Trunks said and headed towards his room. "Have fun. Be nice Aunt Roma."

Yamcha, still on the floor, sighed in defeat. Damn that blue-haired vixen, he thought, when she said give someone a tour I thought she meant a hot friend of hers or an attractive cousin.

Yamcha's eyes perused Roma. He had always secretly wondered about female saiyans. He'd theorized perhaps they were burly, large, and aggressive, ready to knock their mate unconscious and drag him into a cave. He was relieved to see they were as lithe and curvy as human women. At least he could enjoy the view during what was going to be a very long day.

Roma placed her hands on her hips, straightened her shoulders, and looked down at him. "I regret that I thought you were an intruder. _Please_, show me the city." She offered her right hand.

"What?" Yamcha said. He pretended to clean out an ear. A saiyan being polite was a shock, relatively speaking, as it was still voiced as a command. He accepted her hand, and she roughly yanked him back on his feet. Standing awkwardly close, he became distracted by her deep eyes. The obsidian shade was alluring evil in the way a poisonous spider is fascinating. Roma growled and Yamcha jumped a step back.

He looked at her alien uniform; it'd been a few years since he'd seen one. "You can't go out like that."

"Why not?" She huffed. "What do you humans find wrong with my apparel?"

"You'll stand out too much." Plus, he thought,everyone will recognize that style of armor from the televised arrival of Vegeta and Nappa.

"If I change into human garments, you will show me this city?" she asked.

"Do I have a choice?" Yamcha asked aggressively, brushing out the wrinkles Roma had caused to his favorite shirt and sports jacket and trying to avoid eye contact as much as possible.

Roma cocked a grin, "No, you do not."


	4. Chapter 4

Summary: Vegeta's little sister, thought dead by the Saiyan Prince, appears on Earth shortly after the Buu Saga. Since the Saiyans are named after vegetables, Roma's name is from romaine lettuce.

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ. I am a poor educator—hear that students, I'm still writing fanfiction!

* * *

><p>Chapter Four<p>

Flying had been nixed. Yamcha had grabbed the pain-in-his-ass princess's ankle the moment she'd attempted to take off and had yanked her back to Earth. (He'd quickly caught on that her power level was a hair above his own.) On this planet, people walk and they expect everyone else to walk as well – at a reasonable pace, he had emphasized.

They were making their way across the city center to get to the biggest and fanciest mall Yamcha knew of. Roma was perpetually a few steps behind, staring left and right and up like a tourist on a day trip from the countryside. She said nothing, but her eyes and mouth frowned at the things she observed. Yamcha wondered what she was thinking, but was still too pissed (at Bulma's misinformation? At Roma being a high and mighty saiyan?) to even consider being sociable.

Roma adjusted her human clothes for the fourth time in ten minutes. Bulma's old sweater and jeans had curves in all the wrong places. She could feel the looseness of the fabric and felt embarrassed by the show of vulnerability (Saiyans never wore such ineffective outfits).

Yamcha glanced back, but kept walking.

"How do you suffer clothing that doesn't adjust itself," Roma said.

"We suffer," said Yamcha. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and slumped his shoulders forward. "You should've left the scouter. You might get some weird looks," he said.

"Why would I give a icejin's tail what people think of me?" She adjusted the scouter and pointed it at her human guide. His power level had considerably dropped since earlier; he almost blended in with the rest of his pathetic species.

She looked about at the lot of them, all looking somehow plain and vague, even with the disgusting variety of colors – green eyes, how revolting! red hair, how ridiculous! Even with all the species she'd met, this one seemed to come in the most useless range of hues. She snarled at the strangeness. Fellow pedestrian's on the sidewalk gave her an odd look as they passed. An older, sweaty guy gave her a wink and before she could deduce what that meant in Earth culture, **he'd given her ass a small smack and she'd given his wrist a hard twist. **

Yamcha released the man's arm and glared down at him, "Back off while you can." The man nodded and crossed the street, dodging cars to get to the opposite side, never looking back.

Roma hissed, "How dare you interfere."

"This is Earth, and you can't just kill a man," said Yamcha.

"I wasn't going to Kill. I was going to punch him; break some parts," she said.

_Parts_. Even as he felt queasy at the idea, his blood boiled at her presumptuous attitude. "I don't know how they did things where you were, but this is Earth! And ya can't just go about beating the pulp out of people."

"I was teaching him a lesson! Your planet is horribly backwards from what I've seen so far. Are not all females as strong and respected as that of my brother's mate?"

Yamcha knew he was guilty of all sorts of chauvinistic tendencies and looked away. "It should be like you say. It isn't. Bulma is an exception."

"On planet Vegeta we did not make this distinction. Male or female, we lived, we fought, we died. The strong moved up in rank and the weak were given other menial duties to perform."

"There was no strength difference between the sexes?" Yamcha asked, a bit curious.

"Some. But female sayians bear the children and that is not a task taken lightly!" Roma stated and stomped off towards their destination. Yamcha blinked, surprised by both the enlightening information and the passion with which Roma expounded it. Her eyes had been on fire!

XXXXXXXX

Clothing – more like disaster, thought Roma. Again with the rainbow of colors – how many shades of red could there be? How many sizes could there be? What was with these tiny disks that had to be put through holes – what a waste of time!

"Pick something," moaned Yamacha for the 100th time. He leaned back in the chair by the fitting room entrance and closed his eyes, trying to imagine a more pleasant place, maybe a beach or even the baseball fields for training season.

"Um, what is the function of this apparel?" Roma asked.

Yamcha cracked an eye open. He made a forced heh at the article of black, sheer lingerie she was trying to untangle. "Forget it. It's for special occasions."

"Occasions where you are naked through cloth?" Roma thought for a moment. "Ah, mating. Why do humans need special outfits?"

Yamcha was silent, choosing to avoid such an awkward conversation; he especially feared the backlash when she realized most of the lingerie was for _women. _Figures, he thought, male saiyans are chauvinists and female saiyans are militant feminists; must've been a hoot on their planet.

"Yes!" Roma had found the workout clothing.

"I should've guessed," said Yamcha. "Spandex."

Roma was eager to rid herself of Bulma's old, loose clothing and lifted the shirt over her head. Yamcha bolted up wide-eyed and yanked her shirt back down, but not before he and several others in the store got an eyeful. Yamcha could feel his face burning hot red.

"J-j-j," he stammered, "...t-t-take that s-s-stuff t-to that s-small room."

Roma glared at him and then at the others in the store. Really, humans can't handle seeing someone naked? She grabbed her choices and spun around with a huff. Once she was behind the changing room door, Yamcha collapsed back into the chair and groaned, "Please Kami, end this torture."

XXXXXXXX

Clothing bought – gym shorts, gym pants, gym shirts, boy cut underwear. Thankfully, Roma had no need for any bras. He popped five shopping bags into a capsule and tossed it to Roma.

"Okay, we're done," Yamcha said.

Roma pocketed it. "I want to see more. I want you to show me something to impress me." What she'd seen, even the fact human men and women had different clothing, had been depressing. After all, she was planning on making this planet her home, to stay with her brother (how could he stand it here?), but was already regretting such a rash decision to live on a backwards, boring world.

"Impress you?"

"Have you no pride for your species?" said Roma.

A five minute detour to the city park past the mall and Roma was watching human children darting back and forth, up and down on huge swaths of rolling grass and climbing, spinning on training equipment built, it would appear, purely for fun. Roma had never seen so many children of any species in one place – there must've been a hundred spread out across the plot of "organized nature."

Yamcha crossed his arms and looked right at her. "Humans do not send their children away to other planets to kill. We raise our kids."

Roma's power level spiked and she slapped him hard enough to send him flying several feet.

She stood over him. He looked up into glistening, hurt eyes; he glimpsed a bruise hidden deep within their depths, but quickly it was covered up with an evil fire. "Get up," she ordered. He stood up without a comment; he knew he had hit a cord and was beginning to regret his tactless comment. He'd done it to get back, get back at who? Saiyans? Vegeta? Evil space aliens in general?

Roma spoke inches from his face. "What would you do to keep your people alive?"

"I-I-I don't know," he stuttered. Die? Hadn't he already done that a couple times.

"My people were slaves, don't forget who gave the orders," she stated.

_Freeza._ "I'm sorry," he said and he meant it. He'd forgotten about the icejins.

She could hear the honesty and accepted it. People had said worse to her, and she'd kept her cool. Yet this human riled her up so easily. He was so sure of himself, cocky to a fault. Since arriving at Earth her insides had been wound up tight like a spring; she needed someone to punch. She took a step back from him. "Forget it."

_Whee-oo whee-oo whee-oo._ Several sirens caught Roma's attention as police cars passed the West Street by the park.

Yamcha was grateful for the distraction. "Must be something up. Uh, let's go have a look." He wanted to swallow the suggestion the second it escaped his lips. Yeah, he thought, as if human police officers with guns will be impressive. Reluctantly, Yamcha grabbed Roma's wrist and sprinted after the sirens.

The six cop cars surrounded a large bank, aiming their weapons at a large white van parked at the corner. A crowd was forming across the street, even as officers tried to coax them to leave. Whispers of a bank robbery gone bad were passed along. Apparently, they were holding up in their van with a hostage.

Roma and Yamcha pushed through to the front of the crowd. "Stealing money? Why?" asked Roma.

"To buy things. Like all those clothes you just got."

Swoosh. A man landed just in front of them, wearing a gaudy green and black costume with a cape and a white helmet. Yamcha rolled his eyes and muttered to himself ("Oh kami. Not the best impression of Earth…").

"Citizen stand back," said Saiyaman.

"Sure thing, Go- uh Saiyaman," said Yamcha, grateful that either Gohan didn't recognize him or didn't care.

"You seem familiar with this weirdo," said Roma.

"Uh, definitely not," said Yamcha as Gohan started putting on his introduction and making strange motions.

"He talks too much," Roma said raising her palm and releasing three tiny ki-blasts towards the van.

Yamcha hurriedly pulled her through the crowd before anyone could identify her as the "shooter." "There was a hostage!" he shouted at her.

Roma cocked a grin and tapped her scouter. "I can avoid hurting someone if I want."

He couldn't argue with that, if it was true. "Fine, but you can't do that stuff around – "

"Humans?" Roma supplied. "This ball of dirt is increasingly disappointing."

He sighed and smirked, "For you and most of the rest of us."

XXXXXXXX

Although in West City the sky had turned a dark blue and the wind blew a brisk autumn wind, in the wilderness of the Northern plateau the warm sun was just dipping down towards the horizon, painting the landscape a striking contrast of golden glows and stark shadows.

Vegeta sat at the edge of a cliff staring off through the sunset. The whirr of an engine grew nearer and a small hover-scooter came into view. Bulma landed only a few feet away and quickly capsuled the hover-scooter away into her pocket.

Vegeta gave a glance at the scouter she wore. This woman would find any means of finding him. Minutes of silence passed. Bulma never taking her eyes off him, asking the questions without having to move a lip.

"She's my sister," he said suddenly.

"And?" said Bulma taking a couple tentative steps closer.

"She's my sister, " Vegeta repeated in a strained, low voice; to admit even that much was a struggle.

Bulma felt an foreign sensation at the edge of her own thoughts. (She knew Chichi and Goku could communicate telepathically on a rudimentary level, and she herself had felt something the moment of Vegeta's death during the Buu fight.) These sensations were not whole thoughts, there were no words, but a weight of dark feeling that could crack tectonic plates.

A child's scream. This, this was Vegeta's oldest memory. Though he knew his mother, his father, his sister, even some of the words of wisdom the Saiyan King had shared with him, the moments, activities, events of his young life had been boxed away and buried so deep never to be resurrected.

Just as he knew the saiyan alphabet but could not recall the first epics he'd read; he recognized his sister, but could not remember her.

The telepathic connection abruptly ended as if the whole incident had been an accidental leak, though Bulma suspected apart of Vegeta shared it on purpose.

She kneeled down beside her husband and spoke, "What are you going to do?"

"She is saiyan blood, royalty. I am going to train her."

XXXXXXXX

Roma pulled out her half-acceptable human clothing, dressing in a snug tank and shorts as sleepwear.

Yamcha had become more agreeable after the incident in the park, though still cranky, and had walked her up and down several streets. Kami, was everything just shops to these people? Back at Capsule Corp, she'd spent the rest of the evening with her nephew, who continued to fill her in on the planet Earth and had wonderfully introduced her to the delicacy called ice cream.

Bulma passed by the bedroom door, chatting on her cell ("No, no Roma is harmless. I'm glad they were stopped and the girl was fine. No, no Gohan I don't think she – hold on"). She poked her head in for a second, "How was it? You didn't kill Yamcha did you?"

"I'm sure the bruise on his face will heal," she said truthfully.

Bulma laughed, "Oh dear, I'm not gonna ask. He usually does something to deserve it. Sorry I couldn't find anyone else. Tomorrow I'll make it up to you. Promise. Sleep well."

A minute later the door opened again. Vegeta stood hands on hips. Roma stiffened upright.

"6 AM, gravity room."

"Yes, sir." She respectfully bowed low and when she looked up he was gone, but the image of what he'd been wearing!

A blue button shirt and loose tan pants; human clothes on the Saiyan Prince! The stress of the day released, and she fell to her knees laughing her heart out.

Trunks poked his head in. "Aunt Roma? You're not turning evil, are you?"


End file.
